The hospital was a crowded, unhappy place, filled with the sounds of beeping machines and the smell of disinfectant. Shouting men and women in white coats rushed past Alfred, making him jump back against the beige walls. He hated hospitals so much, especially after his last two deaths. The sooner he could get Arthur out of the nasty place, the better.
Oblivious to Alfred's frown, the orderly continued talking as he led the way to Arthur's room. "Hit and run," he explained as they dodged several nurses headed to the emergency room.
"Did they catch the driver?" Alfred demanded. Because if they didn't... he was going to personally hunt that person down and make them pay.
"I don't know. I'll let you know if I find out."
Alfred nodded his head. "Thanks."
"The room is just up ahead..." the orderly began to say, before he was interrupted by loud shouting.
Recognizing the sound of an angry Brit, Alfred started running. He dashed through the doorway and his jaw dropped when he saw Arthur in a skimpy hospital gown wielding his floor-lamp against a doctor and a nurse. "Away you moldy rogues, away!" the Englishman shouted in a lilting accent as he whirled the lamp in a circle to keep everyone away from him.
The nurse jumped back with a look of dismay, retreating closer to the door. "He woke up ten minutes ago and he's been cussing us out in ye olde English ever since," she explained with an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Kirkland, if you keep threatening us, our psychologist will have to evaluate you."
"An ignorant clotpole," Arthur scoffed.
"That's it. I'm going to fetch him," the nurse huffed as she left the room. "This one is a complete nutcase!"
"Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!" Arthur shouted after her.
Alfred stepped between them and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, Artie! Don't be so harsh. They're just trying to help," he said soothingly. He could understand why the accident had left Arthur in a foul temper, but the old-fashioned insults were a surprise.
"Thou art a familiar fellow," Arthur replied as he gave Alfred a confused look.
"Who is this?" the doctor demanded at the same time, walking toward Alfred with a stern expression. "I thought you said you weren't able to get in touch with next of kin?"
As Arthur continued to watch them warily, they stepped out into the hallway for a brief chat.
"This is the patient's step-brother," the orderly explained, pointing to Alfred's visitor's pass. "We found his contact info in the patient's phone."
"Oh, thank goodness." The doctor turned toward Alfred. "Maybe you can convince your brother to agree to this surgery. We think he's suffering from a subdural hematoma―too much pressure in his brain. A ventriculostomy would relieve the pressure, but we need his consent before we can operate."
"He's not crazy, you know," Alfred said as peeked through the doorway to get another look at Arthur. "I think he's talking like Shakespeare because he studies the guy."
"Doctor, the psychologist will be here in half an hour," the nurse interrupted. "Are you sure you don't want me to hook up the sedation now?"
"No, it's not worth the risk of him injuring himself while he fights you. The psychologist might have better luck," she suggested as she checked her buzzing pager.
Alfred's eyes widened. "Wait. You're just gonna leave? What if something happens?"
The doctor sighed. "The hospital lawyers inform me that I can't force him to undergo the surgery unless it's emergency. So I'm afraid there's nothing I can do until he says yes or a psychologist declares him incompetent. Now, if you'll excuse me..." Busy with the needs of other patients, she pushed past Alfred. A few moments later the orderly rushed off to deal with another crisis, leaving him alone with the nurse.
"You know, if you want to talk some sense into him, you're certainly welcome to try. I can wait out here," the nurse suggested, probably hoping for an excuse to avoid another confrontation with Arthur.
"Thanks," Alfred nodded, "I think I will."
Alfred wasn't sure what he expected when he stepped back into the room, but he wasn't ready for the distrustful look in Arthur's eyes and the bruises covering Arthur's pale face. As he noticed the splint on Arthur's right arm, he felt sick to stomach. It was his fault that Arthur had left in a huff. It was his fault that Arthur had gotten hurt. This was all his fault.
"I'm so sorry, Arthur," he murmured. He wanted to take back every angry word. He wished he had never read that damned article in the first place.
"William," the Englishman protested.
"William?" Alfred asked.
"Tis my name," Arthur replied. "Who art thou?"
"I'm Alfred. Guess you don't recognize me, huh?"
"No," the injured man shook his head. "Thy speech is peculiar."
Alfred felt a ghost of a smile cross his face. "I could say the same for you," he replied. But something about the name combined with the old-fashioned speech tickled at the back of his brain. The words sounded like the Shakespearean play he had attended with Arthur. Alfred paled. What if his lover wasn't just talking like Shakespeare, what if he thought he was William Shakespeare? It would mean that he must have hit his head very hard indeed.
"They called thou... my kinsman?" Arthur's brows knitted together as he slowly set down the lamp. "Forsooth, I do not feel brotherly toward thou."
"Good." Alfred smiled back seductively. "I just said that so they would let me in." He tried to push away the feelings of guilt, and focused instead on figuring out a way to make Arthur agree to the surgery. The way Arthur sucked in a breath and looked at him with obvious interest gave Alfred hope. Sure, the Englishman might have lost his memories, but it seemed that his taste in men hadn't changed. He took a few steps closer, until he was standing next to Arthur and the bed. If he didn't have Arthur's trust, at least he could count on lust.
"I do not trust these madmen," Arthur confided. "They seek to poison me."
"Uh-huh." Given how bad doctors were at healing people in Elizabethan times, Alfred somehow wasn't surprised. As he glanced past the Englishman, he spotted the IV bag filled with sedatives positioned near the bed frame. A plan began to form in his head. If he could get Arthur on the bed and distract him, it would be easy to connect the drip. With a renewed sense of determination, Alfred leaned in until his face was nearly touching Arthur's. "You can trust me."
"We art... close?"
"Very close," Alfred murmured, resting his forehead against Arthur's. "It's like that sonnet you like. The one about having a wish, and a 'will,' and making your willie bigger."
Arthur blushed. "Whoever hath his wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in overplus," he replied, his eyes widening when Alfred laid a hand against his chest. "More than enough am I, that vex thee still," Arthur continued, his voice shuddering as Alfred's finger glided down his chest, "to thy sweet will," until it reached his groin, "making addition thus," and reached beneath Arthur's hospital gown.
As Arthur arched into his touch, Alfred closed the tiny distance between them, kissing softly and careful not to brush against any of the bruises on the other man's face or body. After a tense moment, he felt Arthur respond, pressing against his lips and slowly melting in his arms. Alfred forgot about their argument and Arthur's injuries. For a few, warm, happy seconds, it was enough just to have the Englishman in his arms.
As he pressed another breathless kiss against Arthur's lips, he reminded himself of the seriousness of Arthur's condition. He gently scooped up the other man, despite Arthur's indignant squawk, and lowered him onto the hospital bed.
"Ah! My arm," Arthur gasped in pain, holding the splint against his body.
"Sorry, sorry! Look, I can make the pain go away," Alfred promised, holding up the end of the IV sedation line. "Do you trust me?"
A brief flicker of recognition crossed Arthur's face. After another moment, he nodded hesitantly. He bit his lip when Alfred hooked up the line, but his expression relaxed as Alfred leaned over to give him another kiss. Alfred could feel the sweet kisses grow slower and gentler as the drug began to take effect.
"No," Arthur suddenly whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open. The hurt and betrayal in his gaze felt like a stab in Alfred's gut. Arthur kept glaring, even as his eyes drooped. "Poison! Thou perjur'd... false... dis... uh..." his voice slowly faded and his head fell back onto the pillow.
"I'm sorry, Artie," Alfred murmured as he unhooked the drip and hit the distress button on the side of the bed.
The nurse gave Alfred a look of sly approval as she rushed into the room. "Trust me, you did him a big favor," she murmured under her breath.
Moments later, more doctors and nurses flooded into the room. Alfred pressed his back against the window and watched the chaos unfold, praying to himself that Arthur would make it through the surgery. Just as Alfred had planned, the doctors and nurses conferred over the unconscious man and wheeled him away to the operating room.
Once the room was empty, Alfred sank into the visitor's chair and stared at the white hospital walls in weary silence. No matter how many times he lived, he never got used to watching the people he loved in pain. To avoid falling into a deep depression, he tried to focus on living in the moment, but sometimes it was hard. Terrified about what might happen to Arthur, he buried his head in his hands and sobbed. He couldn't lose Arthur! Not when he had just found him.
When Alfred's tears finally dried, he took some consolation in thinking about what Arthur had said to him in the cemetery:
They never truly leave us, not so long as we remember them.
He swore he would always remember Arthur. He just hoped and prayed that they would have more time.
Alfred was drinking a cup of coffee an hour later when the nurses wheeled Arthur back into the hospital room. He jumped to his feet and his heart leapt to see Arthur breathing gently. "Is he gonna be okay?" he asked desperately.
"The operation was a success," one nurse replied with a comforting smile. "We'll need to monitor him a few more days. Now the biggest threats are infection and overdraining."
Alfred sagged with relief next to the bed. He reached to hold Arthur's hand as he waited for the Englishman to wake up from his sedation. He hoped that Arthur would regain his memories. He just hoped that Arthur wasn't upset about his IV drip trick.
"How you feeling, Artie?" he asked. "Do you remember who you are now?"
The unconscious man didn't respond, but that didn't stop Alfred from keeping up a constant stream of chatter. If there was any chance Arthur could hear him, he wanted the Englishman to know that he was by his side.
After another hour, as his voice grew hoarse from talking, Alfred looked up to see an orderly and a security guard enter the room. The stern looks on their faces made his stomach drop to the floor. "What is it? What's wrong?" he rasped.
The guard stepped closer and glared at Alfred. "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave. You're not authorized to be here."
Alfred gaped. "What? But I've got my visitor's pass and everything!"
"We were finally able to reach the patient's parents," the orderly explained. "And they informed us that the patient doesn't have a step-brother."
"Oh..." Alfred gave them a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I just said that so I could stay with my fiancé. I've heard of folks having trouble, you know."
The guard and orderly gave him equally unimpressed looks.
"Why do I get the feeling that this is a very sudden engagement?" one asked.
"Probably the lack of engagement rings," the other replied.
Alfred tried to keep his expression calm as he panicked inside. "Hey, we didn't go for engagement rings. Arthur thinks they're hokey."
The orderly shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, we don't let anyone other than spouses or family stay in the room after surgery. You can visit the patient during visitor's hours, just like everyone else."
"You can't make me leave," Alfred begged. "I've got to be here when he wakes up."
The guard crossed his arms. "Sir, we will remove you forcibly, and we will prohibit you from returning to the hospital again."
Recognizing a lost cause, Alfred sighed and turned back toward Arthur. "Hold in there, Artie. I'll see you again as soon as I can," he promised as he gave his lover's hand one last squeeze. He lowered the hand until it was resting comfortably by Arthur's side and blinked away the tears welling in his eyes. "Do you... do you mind if I write him a note? I want him to know that I was here."
"I don't have time for dawdling," the guard replied.
"Christ, Jerry, don't be an asshole." The orderly handed Alfred a pen and a scrap of paper. "Here, just be quick about it."
Alfred scrawled the first things that came to mind. Arthur, I love you. Please be okay. They kicked me out, but I'll be back as soon as I can. After another moment's thought, he added one more message. P.S. Don't tell the psychologist that you're William Shakespeare or they'll think you're bonkers. Love, Alfred.
With great reluctance, he followed the orderly to the exit. Visitor's hours didn't start until the next morning, so his only option was to go home and try to sleep... if he could.
(He couldn't.)
The hospital was a calmer place in the early morning hours. Carrying a half-dozen roses, Alfred arrived bright and early at the front reception desk, only to discover that the staff still wouldn't let him visit Arthur.
"What happened? Is he okay?" he demanded, gnawing his lip with worry.
The receptionist gave him a sympathetic look. "Look, I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but he's suffering from severe memory loss. We're not supposed to let anyone in to see him until the doctors examine him again and he has a chance to talk with his parents."
Alfred was overjoyed that Arthur had woken up; as soon as he finished jumping for joy, he began begging and pleading for a chance to see his lover. "He might remember me," he suggested. He was positive that he would be able to spark Arthur's memories if only he could talk with the other man. Unfortunately, his puppy-dog eyes proved ineffective against the rigid hospital bureaucracy.
So Alfred sat in the waiting room, and he waited, and he waited.
And he waited, and he waited, and he waited.
And he waited some more.
He played with his phone until the battery died and then switched to watching the other people in the waiting room. They mostly wore the same grim, determined expression that he did. After all, each of them knew that there was nothing they could actually do other than hope for the best, but that didn't stop them from staying nearby, as if their presence might make a difference between life and death.
Alfred's thoughts constantly circled back to Arthur. He wondered if the memory loss would be temporary. He wondered if it would be hard to reestablish their easy rapport. He wondered if Arthur still thought he was William Shakespeare.
After six of the most excruciating hours of Alfred's lives, the receptionist finally called him to the front of the room. "Mr. Jones? He's ready to see you now."
"Finally!" Alfred leapt out of his seat with a burst of joy. He grabbed his bouquet of roses and followed the receptionist eagerly, stepping on her heels a few times when she walked too slowly for his tastes. But he faltered as she left him at the entrance to Arthur's room, suddenly concerned about what would happen if Arthur didn't recognize him.
He sidled into the room with uncharacteristic timidity. His entrance was quiet enough that the room's occupant didn't even notice his presence at first. Arthur was sitting on the bed, staring at a tablet as he talked with an older couple on the screen. They both looked haggard and worried. The woman leaned closer and bit her lip. "Are you sure you don't remember your cousin Peter? You tried to sell him on eBay once."
"No." Arthur sighed. "It sounds like I don't like Peter."
"What year was the Norman invasion of England?" the man asked.
"1066."
"And when was the Magna Carta signed?"
"1215, at a field near Runnymede."
The man shook his head in dismay. "It's the darnedest thing. All sorts of facts and dates, but he doesn't know his own birthday."
"What about Uncle Gilbert? Do you remember that time he tried to eat your scones?" the woman asked. When Arthur shook his head, she sighed. "Has your visitor arrived yet, darling? The receptionist mentioned that someone was waiting to see you."
Time slowed down as Arthur turned to look toward the doorway. Alfred noticed the way that Arthur's hair splayed out in every direction, even messier than usual because he didn't have his comb. He noticed how tightly Arthur's hand gripped the sheets, the way he always did when he was worried and trying to hide it. And last of all, he noticed the beautiful flash of recognition that filled Arthur's brilliant green eyes.
"I know you," Arthur breathed, a gorgeous smile spreading across his face. Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut short by a shake of Arthur's head. "No, don't say anything. I want to prove that I recognize you."
Alfred nodded and stayed silent.
"You're American."
With a grin, Alfred nodded again.
"You're scared of ghosts."
Alfred flushed, but he nodded anyway. As much as he hated to admit it, it was true.
"Your favorite brand is Chesterfields!"
With a slight frown, Alfred shook his head. "No, I don't smoke. You're probably thinking of the pack you left for Theodore."
"Wait. You aren't...?" Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry, I suppose I don't know you after all."
"Did you say that he's a smoker?" Arthur's mother demanded. "Is he in a gang? I don't want my sweet little boy dating a smoker."
"Mum." Arthur turned back to the screen with a distracted expression. "Sorry, Mum, Dad. I'll talk to you later," he told his parents as he powered off the tablet.
Once Arthur finished putting it away Alfred walked over to the bed and handed him the bouquet of flowers. It was nice to see a happy expression briefly return to Arthur's face as he sniffed the roses, even though the look of recognition was gone. Alfred sat down in the chair and gave Arthur a wan smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, other than the gaping hole where my memories used to be, I feel about as well as you would expect after being hit by a truck."
Alfred winced. "Geez, Artie. I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault." Arthur pursed his lips as he continued staring at Alfred. "Who are you to me? One nurse called you my stepbrother, and another said you were my fiancé. I'm hoping that they're not both correct."
"No." Alfred chuckled. "I said a lot of things to try and stay with you, not that any of it worked. I'm not either, actually. We're... dating, I guess."
"Dating..." Arthur rubbed his chin and gave him a thoughtful glance. "In that case, I think I'm going to need to spend more time getting to know you. Perhaps it will help me reclaim my memories."
Alfred grinned. Even if he didn't have his memories, this was definitely his Arthur. "Yeah. I think that's worth a try."
Author's Notes
Time for the Shakespeare lesson of the day! 'Will' can mean either male or female genitalia, which adds a lot of potential jokes for a writer as skilled as William Shakespeare. That sonnet Arthur is quoting basically says "Your penis is very large and I'm going to give you such a boner."